


in every way ive changed since then

by Crykea



Category: Twelfth Night - Shakespeare
Genre: Canon Typical olivia is actually gay for viola/cesario, Coming Out, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Transphobia, Nonbinary Character, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 09:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18808474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crykea/pseuds/Crykea
Summary: Viola is going through a bit of a crisis. She's trying not to think about it.





	in every way ive changed since then

**Author's Note:**

> Im in love with twlefth night! Read it once and it immediately took over its place for my fave shakespeare play from hamlet. This story is sort of set in the same world as the 1996 movie because im GAY alright

Orsino and Viola are happy. The two of them love each other a lot, make no mistake about it, but there’s a strain of tension between that’s been evident, to Viola at least, since the first three months of their marriage transpired. She doesn’t want to bring it up, because nothing is wrong, really. Viola doesn’t want to ruin things between them. She’s just married the man of her dreams! She’s a duchess! She shouldn’t be avoiding the mirrors in their home so that she doesn’t catch a glimpse of herself in one of the dresses that has been recently bought for her. She shouldn’t have to stop herself from flinching every time she hears her own name.

 

Her hair has grown back quicker than she would have hoped over the past three months and it’s gone from her easy to manage short curls to loose curly waves that fall down over her shoulders. When she turns her head quickly, the ends of her hair tickle the back of her neck in a painfully familiar way that makes her clutch at her hands to stop herself from lunging at the nearest pair of shears. Orsino seems to like her hair, anyway. He’s always playing with the curls, rubbing them through his fingers, and twisting them. 

 

She loves Orsino. She really does. And maybe she’s reading too much into things, but it’s starting to feel a bit as though the love he has for her was originally meant for someone else and she’s not really sure what to do with that. (She does know what she  _ wants _ to do with that, but it isn’t ladylike.) His fingers toy with the bow at the small of her back as though looking for coattails, and if she’s being honest, her love for Orsino doesn’t really feel like it’s rightfully hers either.

 

When she goes to Sebastian’s and Olivia’s, Olivia sits her down to do her hair and makeup. Her hands are clumsy and unused to the tasks, but she tries her best. Viola is much better at returning the favour, with her time in the past working with her brother. They sit gossiping for hours, all of which are spent with Viola sitting carefully so that she can look at Olivia and not accidentally catch a glimpse of her reflection. Every once in a while, Olivia’s hand will brush against Viola’s, or she’ll drag her fingers gently over her cheek to “fix her makeup”. After a while the two find themselves sitting side by side on Olivia’s makeup bench, Olivia’s head on the shorter’s shoulder, looking at themselves in the glass. Viola can’t help the sadness that overtakes her expression, and of course, Olivia notices it nearly immediately. Not understanding at first, she apologizes for her lack of skill, but at the uncertainty and hesitation in Viola’s expression, she seems to understand.

 

_ You look much better without makeup anyway. _

 

Olivia helps her scrub the makeup off her face and pins her hair up high, positioning herself so that she is standing in between Viola and her reflection and between Viola’s knees. She has to stand on her tiptoes to grab the hat that has been hung by Sebastian on a wall hook. Viola doesn’t know if she really wants to think about why she suddenly feels so comfortable wearing her brother’s hat, but when she tries to wriggle around to see her reflection she’s met with a focused  _ Stay Still. _ Olivia uncaps a brown pigment, giving her a stern look when Viola rolls her eyes at the makeup. Instead of smearing it on her eyelids with her fingertips as she did previously, Olivia very carefully lays the pigment solely on her eyebrows, darkening them.

 

She slowly unbuttons the collar of Viola’s dress, glancing over her shoulder to ensure that the door is shut before slipping it off her shoulders. Sebastian’s jacket is hanging on a hook just below where his hat was and she nabs it from the wall dextrously, draping it around Viola’s shoulders. When Viola finally looks at herself-?- in the mirror, she’s trying desperately not to think about the burning in their eyes. Olivia stands behind them with her hands on her hips studying their reflection in the mirror. 

 

_ There’s the Cesario I missed. _

 

Her tone is airy and there’s a bit of a blush on the high of her cheekbones, that Viola barely takes the time to notice before they go back to studying their own appearance.

 

\---

 

Those days with Olivia become a little too commonplace for Viola to think she is retaining any sort of secrecy. Every time she is alone with someone in a room she can't help but feel like they knew her secret-- That they know she’s found what she was missing in her life. Of course, the more often they allow themself to dress as they really want to, the more discomfort Viola feels in their everyday clothes. It all comes to a head a few days after Orsino leaves Viola alone. Olivia has been busy, Sebastian is out of town, the serving men and women are conspicuously absent, preparing the house for their master’s return, and Viola is sitting alone. It’s been two days since Orsino left and he should be back at any time, but instead of getting herself ready for his first dinner back after the days of travel, they can’t seem to move from where they are slumped in front of the floor length looking glass kept in the bedroom. 

 

Their dress is long, lace itching at their feet as they sit, knees drawn up against their chest. It isn’t especially the most comfortable position with how their corset makes it hard for their back to slouch, but they strain against it to bury their face in their arms. The action swings their now much longer golden hair forward to drape around their face. They can’t take this. This isn’t them. They can’t live like this-- This isn’t how they’re supposed to look.

 

In Viola’s head, they aren’t this gown-clad aristocratic woman that everyone thinks they are. They aren’t a good wife, daughter, sister-- They aren’t a good  _ woman _ , frankly, and they don’t know why it took so long to see it (They do know. Of course they know ~~, but it’s just unladylike is all.~~ )

 

Orsino finds them there hours later, frozen on the floor. Golden curls litter the floor around them on the floor mingling with the lace of their gown. Irritated tear tracks line their tired face as they hold eye contact with their reflection. A pair of ornately designed silver shears hang limply in their fingers. Viola--Cesario?-- looks up and makes eye contact with their husband through the mirror, exhaustion present in their slate grey eyes and worry present in their husband’s warm brown ones. He immediately leans down to scoop them up in his arms, concerned about the wellbeing of his wife. He places them on the bed and kneels in front of them, clutching their hands tightly within his own.

 

_ What is it, my love _ only makes their eyes leak a few more tears that they can’t bear themself to brush away.  _ What is it, Viola? _

 

_ I’m not who I thought I was. I can’t be your wife. I don’t think I’m a woman-- _ Everything comes tumbling out past their lips as their hands shake within his grasp. He pulls them down to rest their head against his shoulder and sighs into their now short hair, ruffling the edges pleasantly. Slowly, his hands find the ties of their corset and he carefully begins to untie it, allowing them a bit more room to breathe.

 

_ Oh my darling, Cesario _ There’s kindness in his words as he caresses their red cheeks, eyes flitting over their face as though he’s trying to memorize everything about them.  _ Is that all? _

 

The tears start up again and they’re surprised there’s still enough in them to cry, but instead of a sob, their chest spasms with laughter. A goofy sort of smile winds itself over his face at the reaction, making them laugh more.

 

Orsino and Cesario are happy. After all, they fell in love with each other long before their wedding.

**Author's Note:**

> find me online @crykea


End file.
